


I Won't Let You Fall

by HallsofStone2941



Series: Crazy Life [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dwalin's scary, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Malnourishment, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not Beta Read, Racist Language, abandoned!Bilbo, bad language, both good and bad, brief racism, but a huge softie at heart, fem!Bilbo, mentions of attempted murder, modern!AU, orphan!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1879629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallsofStone2941/pseuds/HallsofStone2941
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If a dance is difficult, a funeral is unbearable."</p><p>With their parents just put in the ground, Balin and Dwalin only have each other left. They are not expecting a new addition to the family - not so soon. But neither brother can resist *those* eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Won't Let You Fall

**Author's Note:**

> I was scrolling through other people's tumblr dashboards yesterday, and I have come to the conclusion that the Hobbit fandom is slowly descending into the madness that plagued the Sherlock fandom not too long ago - Peter Jackson, we need our BoFA trailer. Now.
> 
> Also, I have never written a oneshot this long. Good God, is that a lot of typing!

Dwalin fucking _hates_ suits. Seriously. He was once kicked out of a school dance because he refused to wear a suit. They are stuffy, scratchy, and ill-fitting, particularly due to his unnatural bulk. Everything is made worse, of course, by the situation.

If a dance is difficult, a funeral is unbearable.

The coffins are closed, for which Dwalin is eternally grateful. Even a makeup artist can only do so much for the victims of a car crash.

He uses a crutch to scratch surreptitiously at his armpit, where a thread of the itchy wool has come free of the poor sewing job. Fucking Chinese factory workers.

His mother would skin him if she heard him say that. Then again, he would not have to wear the suit at all if she and Dad were still alive.

The crutches are for his leg, which got caught between the door, his seat, and his father's seat in front of him. Balin had been in a separate car...his only damage is emotional.

After everything their family had been through, after all the threats, murders (both attempted and successful), and damages to properties, bodies, and peace of minds - after everything they had survived - two of the most important people in his life were taken out by an idiot drunk behind the wheel.

Balin is giving the eulogy; Dwalin had refused to talk. His older brother speaks without the slightest hitch in his voice or tear down his face. If their parents were here, alive, they would be able to recognize Balin's grieving poker face, put on for all but close family. As it is, only Dwalin remains to know how close Balin is to breaking down completely. Most of their family is gone, dead or scattered to all corners of the country; slinking off like beaten dogs to lick their wounds and scrap out a living, or to lie down, give up, and die. The fight left them years ago, when Arkenstone fell; now they cannot even bother to come and say goodbye to a co-founder of their once-great company and his wife. Not even...well. No one has mentioned _his_ name for a long time; not since he disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving behind a pregnant sister and the crumbling ruins of the greatest jewelry company in the state.

Dwalin feels a sort of numbness about the whole thing. He is sure that, sometime in the near future, he will find himself in such a depressed state that he would, as someone else, want to beat the shit out of himself (he cannot stand people who will not help themselves). For now, though, he is stuck in limbo. He has not shed a tear since he woke up in the hospital with his brother sitting at his bedside, eyes telling him everything he did not want to know. He still cannot get past the shock of the accident (and it was an accident; the police did a thorough investigation due to the family's history with Smaug), and of knowing he will never see his parents again. He does not believe it.

The service ends, the coffins are lowered into the graves and buried, and the people that decided to come - distant relatives, coworkers, friends from the photo albums that never bothered keeping in touch - give empty condolences. Empty, Dwalin thinks, because they knew Fundin Durin, expert businessman, and Thala Durin, arm decoration; not Fundin Durin, dedicated father, and Thala Durin, beloved mother. Dwalin waits only for Balin, who is much more patient than he. When it is deemed respectable for the brothers to leave, they do so, set at the pace Dwalin moves. Neither brother has been in any motorized transportation since that fateful accident, and Dwalin does not think he ever will be.

The walk home is silent save for the tapping of Dwalin's crutches. He cannot wait to get out of this suit and into more comfortable clothes - sweats and a T-shirt that he can wear until he feels like leaving home again, which may be never. No, he is not numb. There is a sharp ache in his chest that has been there since he awoke in the hospital. Once he gets home, he thinks, he will be able to grieve properly.

At least school is out for the year.

 *****

They are nearly home when Balin pauses on the sidewalk, head cocked to one side. Though Dwalin has not said anything, the trip from the cemetery has exhausted him. He glares at Balin impatiently, though his brother does not notice.

This time, Dwalin hears the sound, but immediately scoffs. "It's a cat, Balin, now come on." He starts to move again when a louder cry comes from the alleyway Balin had paused beside. This time, Dwalin knows it is no cat.

Balin is turning into the alleyway before Dwalin can say anything, and after a moment, he huffs and follows his brother, making sure to tap his crutches against the sidewalk irritatedly. Balin is crouching down by a large cardboard box lying on its side, the opening facing him. Dwalin cannot see anything from his angle, but Balin is speaking to someone. He uses a calming voice, as if it is a spooked animal, but the words are too intelligent for a stray cat or dog. Eventually he extends his hand, and waits patiently.

Dwalin does not think the person is coming. Then, a rustling noise comes from the box. A tiny hand - a child's hand - reaches out to tentatively grasp Balin's. Carefully, to avoid tripping over himself or scaring the child, Balin backs away, bringing the hand - and the body attached - with him.

It is a girl, as far as Dwalin can tell. She is no more than six years old, her clothes are dirty and torn, and there is grime smeared across every inch of her skin, which is an unhealthy white. Her darkened tresses hang straight around her head and are hopelessly matted, the original color lost to dirt and lack of care. Large, light hazel eyes are fixated on Balin, the shifty look in them suggesting that she will run away at the slightest hint of danger.

An orphan, obviously - malnourished and probably carrying a shitload of disease. Some small part of Dwalin feels sorry for the child, but it is quickly consumed by his own grief and pain. He shifts on his crutches, drawing the girl's attention to him.

Immediately she backs away, hiding slightly behind Balin. "It's alright," Balin says. "He looks mean, but he won't hurt you. This is my brother, Dwalin, and I'm Balin." She does not move, or make a sound, but brown eyes continue to stare at him, at his clothes, and at his crutches. The scrutiny makes him shift again, then curse as the movement causes him to stumble. Balin quickly admonishes him, but when he looks up, the girl is not hiding anymore, and there is the barest hint of amusement on her lips.

At Balin's insistence, they take her home. Dwalin opens his mouth to argue, but the look Balin gives him - so like their father's - says, _not now_. It takes some convincing, but the little girl tentatively takes Balin's hand and walks out of the alleyway, making sure to stay on the side of Balin away from Dwalin.

The Durin brothers quickly realize that the girl is not feral; though she is skittish, she appears to know some form of manners - those that do not require talking. Once at home, Balin instructs Dwalin to find the smallest shirt he can, and Dwalin goes hunting through his old clothes. His returns to the living room, where Balin takes the shirt (which is a little ratty, but clean), and leads the girl to the bathroom. While Dwalin earned money doing yard work and mechanics as a pre-teen and early teenager, Balin excelled at handling little children, and often babysat for the neighborhood; these skills come in handy now as he turns the bath water on and tests the temperature.

Or, tries to, at least. Once the water comes on, the girl shrieks loudly and begins tugging at Balin's clothing - _away_ from the tub. Balin quickly shuts the tap off and turns around to comfort the girl, who has begun sobbing uncontrollably. He gives Dwalin a _look_. The teenager frowns, trying to decipher his brother's meaning, before his expression clears in understanding. He limps to the kitchen and grabs a large salad bowl, filling it with water that, as far as he can tell, will not be too hot or too cold for the girl. He forces his tired legs to move him back to the bathroom, where the girl has calmed down some. He sets the water on the counter and grabs a towel, holding it out for Balin.

Balin gently reaches for the girl and cautiously picks her up, watching for any signs of protest. She goes quietly, though, sitting on the counter and eyeing the bowl apprehensively. Balin takes the towel and dips it in the water, nodding to Dwalin in approval of the temperature. Gently, Balin gives the girl a sponge bath. Once he has lightly rubbed the visible skin, he reaches for the hem of her shirt. Dwalin decides to leave, then, as this is _not_ his area of expertise.

"Make some food," Balin calls as he leaves. "Something easy on the stomach - soup, if we have any."

Dwalin takes a can of chicken noodle out of the pantry and heats it up in a large bowl, letting it sit on the counter to cool off before spooning it into a smaller bowl. Balin comes out with a much-cleaner child trailing after him, looking tiny in Dwalin's old shirt (which does _not_ endear him, no, not in the slightest). Her hair is still a rat's nest, and Dwalin thinks it will have to be shaved off. Another time though, perhaps, when she is less frightened by everything—wait, what?

The little girl sits at the table, still eying Dwalin warily, and he moves away to ease her mind. At the smell of food, she turns to the bowl waiting for her. She grabs the spoon eagerly, then looks to Balin, who is standing at her side, for approval. He nods, a slight smile crinkling his eyes, and she quickly begins eating. Only halfway through the bowl, though, she sets the spoon down carefully and sways in her seat; Balin immediately reaches for her and picks her up as she slumps, exhausted, against him. He carries her to his own room with Dwalin following behind; the room is neat, as always, with the bed made and everything in its proper place. Balin uses one hand to pull the covers back before laying the girl down gently. He tucks the sheets around her as she burrows into what is likely the softest place she has slept in a long time. The two brothers exit the room, and Balin shuts the door quietly behind them before they move to the kitchen table and sit down.

"What are we going to do with her, Balin?" His brother's automatic reaction to take her home makes him nervous - surely Balin does not think it is a good idea to keep the girl?

"For now, we let her sleep." Balin says, putting his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. "We'll look for her family: any missing ads, police reports, maybe check with the local orphanage. She hasn't been alone for long, or else she wouldn't have come with us so easily. Meanwhile, we'll take care of her. Make sure she's fed, clothed, that she sleeps well," he sighs, and the sound is full of exhaustion. "We'll make sure she finds a good home, wherever it may be."

"And if we can't find a home? If she has no family, what then? Do we take her to the orphanage?" Dwalin asks. Balin takes his head out of his hands and stares at Dwalin for a long time.

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it."

*****

The next month is a blur of "found" posters, phone calls to orphanages and police stations, and babysitting. Their task would be easier, Dwalin thinks, if the girl would talk (even mention a name), but so far, there has not been one word out of her. Caring for her has become a joint effort. Balin deals directly with the child, as she still will not go near Dwalin, but the teenage boy still finds himself helping a lot, whether it is cooking meals (he thinks he could be a professional chef by the end of the summer) or running errands that Balin cannot. He also watches the house (and its miniature occupant) to ensure she does not get into trouble while Balin is talking to police, orphanages, and anyone that may have connections with the girl. Both brothers decided that Dwalin would be better at keeping an eye on a silent girl than trying to be patient with patronizing adults.

They do not get very far. None of the orphanages have any record of a child being admitted, or running away. There are no responders to the ads in the newspaper, or the posters on the streets around the alley where they found her. In one moment of desperation, Dwalin starts asking the homeless people lining the alleys about a little girl, but they either claim to have never seen her or disregard his presence entirely. Balin points out that terrorizing people is not the best way to get information.

One night in early August, Dwalin walks into the kitchen to find Balin staring at his laptop, a pensive expression appearing behind his glasses. He is not moving, and when Dwalin moves to look at the screen, he sees Balin's meticulous accounting book pulled up.

He goes to the cupboard and grabs a glass, filling it with water and sitting at the table, waiting for his older brother to speak. Finally, Balin sits up and meets Dwalin's eyes.

"I'm not going to college."

As much as Dwalin wants to spew the water in his mouth all over the table, he forces himself to finish the sip, all the while looking at Balin with a raised eyebrow. Balin has wanted to go to college since fifth grade.

"I have...a decent job offer. Secretary work, mostly, but with the possibility of being promoted. It won't be here for me in a few years." He pauses before continuing. "I think...I think she needs to go to the doctor. Get a proper medical check-up, make sure she's not dangerously ill. And...the college fund that Dad saved can be used to run the house, cover the expenses that he wasn't expecting _we_ would have to pay. With it, and the job, we'd all be able to live comfortably."

Now Dwalin does spit out his water. "All?" Balin looks somewhat sheepish.

"I've spoken with the orphanage - they've already got so many kids. And the head says that our girl," _our girl?_ , "needs more care than she would get there. Normally, they'd be against giving her to such an...unusual family, but if I can show that I can support her, they'll give us a break. A visit to the doctor is one of the steps we would need to take."

Dwalin sits still and looks into the living room, not really seeing it. He has been so busy this summer that he has not had time to grieve, and it frustrates him.

And yet, he does not feel the need to grieve. It still hurts to think about his parents, but the ache has dulled, as if this little girl has pressed a tiny bandage to it to make it go away. More importantly, Balin seems to be handling himself better with someone to take care of - someone that is not his trouble-making, relatively self-sufficient fifteen-year-old brother.

But to forsake college?

"Night classes? An Associate's Degree in business or finance, at least. Please, brother, do _something_ ," Balin looks thoughtful at Dwalin's suggestion.

"We'll see. First, we need to make sure our little friend doesn't have some terminal illness."

After examining a very obedient child, the doctor informs the brothers that their girl (she is "theirs", now) is not, miraculously, suffering any diseases.

"She is severely malnourished, however, and suffering psychologically. My best bet, from what you have told me, is that someone abandoned her, maybe even attempted to drown her, judging by her fear of water. What she needs most is stability and a lot of TLC. No matter what you do, you must convince her that she is wanted. If she thinks she is a burden, or that you may hurt her, she will probably leave, likely to her death.

"I'm not too concerned about her weight. Children her age, those that go through what she has been through, show remarkable ability to bounce back, so long as they are found in time. She will always be small, I'm afraid, since she has missed some important months of growth, but I don't think it will be an unusual size for a woman." Balin, with their girl clasping his hand and peeking at the doctor from behind his coat, asks the doctor for her age. "About eight, I would say," he replies, shocking both brothers. Her small size had thrown them off.

On the way home, Balin and Dwalin decide that a treat would not be remiss for the girl's good behavior. They stop by an excellent ice cream place, letting her point to her ice cream of choice. As they walk home with the small child carefully licking her chocolate dessert, she makes an excited noise and runs to the window of a video store, nose pressed against the glass as she stares at the displayed copy of "Beauty and the Beast". The brothers shrug at each other, and Dwalin goes in to rent the movie, receiving an odd look from the clerk. Dwalin glares back, and the man shrinks behind the counter and hands him the case wordlessly.

Dwalin fries chicken strips for dinner that night, and they all squish together on the couch to watch the movie while they eat their dinners. The girl even risks sitting next to Dwalin, though she is really sitting on Balin's lap more than anything. It is obvious that she has seen the movie before, and seems very fond of the main character.

By the time the credits roll, she is half-asleep on Balin's shoulder. He chuckles gently and picks her up. "Come on, little Belle, time for bed," he says as he carries her to his old room (after several weeks of sleeping on the couch, Balin had managed to move into the master bedroom, allowing her to permanently claim his room). The newly-christened child does not even stir.

*****

August is, as usual, unbearably hot. The trio spends its time inside the house with the air conditioner on full blast, trying to stay as cool as possible. Belle is suffering the worst of the heat - it has made her scalp dry and itchy, and the mats in her hair make it impossible to relieve. Balin and Dwalin have slowly begun accustoming her to water, but she still shies away from anything deeper than six inches. Eventually, Balin pulls out a sharp pair of scissors and a heavy-duty razor. Belle sits stock-still as Balin cuts and shaves the dark locks.

She looks like a cancer patient, with pale skin and a completely bald head, but she gives them a brief, brave smile before hopping off the counter. She pats her head and rubs it, curious like any normal child her age. Dwalin retrieves a brownie from the cookie jar and gives it to her, thereby stemming any fit she could possibly throw.

Belle looks healthier by the time Dwalin's school starts. Her skin has darkened slightly under the summer sun, and no longer stretches tight over her bones. She has begun to fill out her frame, looking more like a healthy eight-year-old and less like the dirty, near-death child they found hiding in a cardboard box. Her lack of hair is odd, but it will grow back, healthier and brighter than before.

Balin starts working the unwanted swing and graveyard shifts in September, and will likely be doing so until Dwalin gets out of school, or until they are comfortable leaving Belle somewhere during the day while they are gone. The older brother stays at home during the day, watching Belle and completing any work that he can do via the computer. When Dwalin comes home, Balin either stays for a couple hours or goes straight to work, leaving his younger brother to cook and care for Belle. She is reserved, content to read or color in the books they bring for her, and never speaks a word.

Both brothers make some efforts to educate her, and Dwalin turns out to be a surprisingly adept teacher. He is not quite sure what she should be learning, so he tells her what he knows about history and science. He will show her some math, and she copies him religiously, even doing the problems he gives her on her own. They do their homework together at the kitchen table, either while waiting for dinner to finish cooking or after eating, before Belle's bedtime. Dwalin gets the sense that Belle still prefers Balin; that she misses him when he is not around to eat with them. But they can share space, at least, and Dwalin can even initiate a form of conversation - one that includes a lot of head gestures and, occasionally, a quiet giggle from his pupil. Sometimes, on the weekends, he can make her eyes light up by mixing vinegar and baking soda in a bottle and setting it down in the backyard, or by buying red cabbage juice and adding all sorts of acids and bases to it to produce a rainbow of colors - his personal version of "science".

Some days are easier than others. More often than not, Balin comes back after midnight with barely the presence of mind to kick off his shoes before falling into bed. Sometimes he reaches for the bottle in the top cupboard and pours himself a glass or three, laws be damned. Sometimes Dwalin joins him. Sometimes, if Balin takes Belle somewhere and leaves Dwalin in the house, the teenager will go to the master bedroom closet, or the attic, grab one of his parents' belongings, and lie down, sobbing, with the memento crushed to his chest. He knows that Balin does the same.

Then there are the other days. The three of them will go to the park, and Balin and Dwalin will push Belle on the swing or sit with her on the seesaw, relishing the few, precious laughs she grants them. Balin will come home with a special treat, and they will all scrunch together on the couch to watch a kid's movie ("Beauty and the Beast" is a favorite) and eat ice cream until they are sick. Sometimes Balin will pull Belle into his lap and show her the family photos, his mouth turned up in a smile rather than a suppressed frown, and drag Dwalin over from the stove to look at that one particular picture where he made a fool of himself in front of everyone. Most of the good days, Dwalin reflects, are made so because Belle is there to lighten the mood. It is amazing how a girl with no words can affect them so much.

School certainly tries to destroy the tentative happiness in Dwalin's life. It is not his schoolwork - contrary to popular belief, he is actually smart enough to complete the assignments to a satisfactory level. It is _boring_ , though. He has no friends (not that he would want to hang out with the pansies in his school) and everyone - students, teachers, and staff - range from mildly afraid to terrified of him.

The Mohawk probably does not help. Or the numerous tattoos, or the scowl. Maybe, if someone bothered making classes interesting (it is not that hard, he does it at home!), he would not scowl so much. Instead, he gets the distinct impression that he is wasting his time.

The new rule is the last straw. _Due to increased gang violence_ , the letter reads, _any form of dress, hairstyle, or body marking, including, but not limited to, piercings of the nose or other irregular body parts, or tattoos of any kind, that associate with or imply gang affiliations, are prohibited. Hair and dress must be tailored to meet this requirement, piercings must be removed during school hours, and tattoos must be covered at all times. Thank you for your cooperation._ According to Dwalin's twitchy English teacher, Mohawks are included in this ban. They want him to shave his head.

He has reached the end of his tether - has been slowly inching towards it for months now, the crap in his world building up to bury the small moments of perfection, and he has had enough. After the teacher finishes reading the statement, he forces himself to meet Dwalin's eyes - to emphasize the importance of the message, because if anyone in this shit school looks like a gang member, it is Dwalin Durin. The teen gazes back, completely calm on the surface even though his insides are boiling with rage. After several seconds, Dwalin stands and pushes his chair back into the desk. As he walks to the door, Mr. Yall stutters while asking him where he thinks he is going. He turns, looks at the teacher and the class, says "fuck this shit" in a deadly calm voice, and walks out. Out of the class, out of the hall, and out of the school. He does not stop walking until he gets through the front door and into the kitchen of his home, where Belle looks up from her coloring book, confusion marring her features. It is lunchtime for her, the grilled cheese sandwich sitting half-eaten on the plate, and she knows he should not be home.

Balin gives him a look but says nothing until Belle goes out to the backyard. "Do tell me, brother dear, why you aren't in school?" Balin's voice is as calm as Dwalin's had been, but he can hear the warning and see it in his older brother's eyes.

"Because I'm done. I quit, Balin. I'm not taking anymore of this shit." Balin watches him for a long while, as if running through Dwalin's thoughts. Finally, he nods.

"Very well. Get a job."

Dwalin does so, nabbing a dusk shift at the car wash. Not many people pass through, but he was the only one willing to take the shift, and it pays well enough for Balin not to bother him. His older brother switches his shifts to the proper nine-to-five job he had been offered in the first place. Dwalin takes the place of babysitter; thankfully, he and Belle are much more comfortable in each other's presence than when they first met. Dwalin still teaches Belle everything he can remember, taking it upon himself to be her editor whenever she produces some writing. They spend other days entertaining themselves; one Wednesday, Balin comes home to find every surface in the kitchen (including its occupants) covered in flour: the result of a bake-fest. Other days they will engage in movie marathons, often with a theme (almost always Disney-related, but Belle also loves Tom and Jerry). If the weather is nice, Dwalin will bundle Belle up in something warm and take her for walks, or out to lunch, or to feed the swans in the river by the park, or to the museum. He spoils her, oh, he knows he does, but feeling her tiny hand in his banishes the ever-dwindling ache in his heart, and her child-like wonder makes him feel, if only for a few minutes, that the shit in his past is nothing but a bad dream. She makes him feel innocent again.

One Saturday afternoon, a noise from Belle's room alerts the brothers that she has woken up from her nap. Balin presses a hand to Dwalin's shoulder as the teen makes to rise from his spot on the couch, and Dwalin sits back down. Balin disappears down the hall to see to Belle's needs.

Dwalin drops the book he is reading (Balin insists on continuing his education) when he hears laughter. Not the light chuckles and soft snorts his brother has been making for the past ten months - full-on, all-out _guffawing_. Before Dwalin can unfreeze himself from the couch, Balin comes out, carrying Belle and grinning like the Cheshire cat; it is one of the greatest sights Dwalin has seen since his parents died. There are even tears streaming down Balin's face, happy tears, while poor Belle just looks confused, her fingers in her mouth.

"Her first words," Balin explains, bouncing Belle and looking at her like a proud father. Dwalin's eyes widen.

"What were they?"

Balin's smile widens, fresh tears coming out of his eyes. He chuckles wetly. "She said: 'I want Dwalin'."

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really need Dwalin for a big brother in my life. Does anyone have any extras?
> 
> Ah, let's see, soundtrack for this one:  
> 1) Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton  
> 2) Carry On by Fun.  
> 3) I Won't Give Up by Jason Mraz  
> 4) Never Gonna Be Alone by Nickelback


End file.
